Edge Of Betrayal
by Edge Of Regret
Summary: I couldn't stop him...Isaak, why did you do it? [Abel questioned.] My actions...your actions...we've condemned the world to destruction. [Tears phased into creation through the ducts,] Rome's activities will be the beginning or end...
1. Chapter 1:Tides of Chaos

Chapter 1: Tides Of Chaos

From the pitch smoke rising from the open field, the blurred vision of Abel focused upon a silhouette in the distance. He couldn't make it out. Sweat cascaded down his forehead, sinking into his lips. Fingers dug deeply beneath the rain-littered dirt, but something about his position provided him with an inability to stand. Knee sat struck cold within the murky puddle, the black attire nestled upon his frame dripping with tiny droplets of the falling quintet.

'I can't stand…' the boy lightly exclaimed to himself, a gasp of fright escaping his lips. Scurrying through the dread of the ground, forearms were pressed forth in place of legs. Dragging his form in a quick rush towards the single individual standing in the distance.

Was he close or far away? Abel couldn't ascertain through the glare of the sun. Its brightly lit endeavour unfolding before his eyes, barring proper vision and so stopping him from witnessing the true essence of whom it was in the distance. But he stopped, the whistling of a familiar voice sounding in the background of his position.

A crackling of his neck allowed him to intake the area behind him with a painful jerk. The noticeable person now sat beside me, laden in a coat almost mimicking his very own. White fingers tucked around the frail bicep, the familiar male lacing the arm around his neck as he helped Abel to stand to his feet.

"What happened, Krusnik?" the green eyes of the comrade fixed on the vanishing form in the distance. Like a flutter in the wind did the enemy disperse into seemingly nothing. "I thought you could do better against members of the Rosen Kreuz…"

Around their position, a riddle area of countless corpses drained into the earth, there life's essence faded into the abyss known as death. Abel's eyes sat shunned from sight by thin eyelids fallen to conceal their hue. His voice trailed, softly and slowly…almost sorrowful, "I couldn't…save them. I'm sorry, Father Hugue…"

Roaring engines sounded over head, brushing winds caressing through the dirt ridden ground; uplifting clumps of murk to scrap against the pair of AX agents. The bruised grey skies were abruptly interrupted by numerous voices screaming from above. The main one resounding from a sister, Esther Blanchett; crying out to Abel and Hugue to grab the robe ladder dangling directly in front of them.

In lieu of Abel lifting a finger, Hugue's supple digits grasping tightly onto the centre piece, slowly hooking his foot onto one sitting lower. Before long, both Abel and Hugue sat on the deck to the Iron Maiden battleship. Hugue lost in contemplation, while Abel sat lost in despair. No more than a few words passed through his lips before black out, "Isaak Fernand von Kampfer."

* * *

From the bowl of the pipe emitted several framing of smoke. The aroma of tobacco filling through the room occupied by all but one AX members. Teeth clamped down upon the tip, lips pursed so as to puff numerously, igniting the ember and releasing more stench into the atmosphere. A brown hue was revealed in full contrast to a pale complexion, the idle stare of the Professor moving to eclipse the crimson cardinal, Caterina Sforza.

Passing through her docile appearance came words of a harsh under-tone, their direction placed towards the AX gathering, "Alright!" her palm slammed against the desk before her. "Inform the department of Inquisition about the situation, Sister Kate." The response from the opaque female was instant, no words to reply just a simple gesture of her head and disappearance. "Gunslinger, Father Leon, Father Hugue, I wish for you three to continue an in-depth investigation into want exactly went on in the Desert." The triad of priests exited the room almost immediately after the orders were given, each replying with a gesture of their own, the only word spoken from that of Father Tres.

The last remaining AX members, Vaclav Havel and William Walter Wordsworth, seemed to appropriate positions directly before her eminence. Neither spoke for fear of the cardinal's wrath, they simple stood their, idle…staring and contemplating. Thinking of the next motion and what to do about the growing threat of the Rosen Kreuz.

"Your eminence, may I suggest that we attempt to negotiate with Von Kampfer?" Father Havel's ever respectful tone glittered, breaking the growing silence. His suggestion caught both the attention of the Professor and Caterina. The newly formed pair now staring idly at the dark haired priest.

As each went to respond, both neither got the time nor chance before an interruption screamed through the door. The wood object collided heavily against the small table nestled behind it, a vibration travelling through the interior of the supposed private room. Draped in a crimson robe over-laying white attire, Cardinal Francesco de Medici bore his deadly sneer at the trio.

Ever brash, ever fiery; his voice screamed throughout the room and trailing down the hallway, urging several fathers to stop. "We will not negotiate with lowly vampires! Scum like that deserve one thing, and that is retribution!" the position of his voice came to a slow halt, calming down but remaining perpetually strong, "Thank you, dear Caterina, for informing the Inquisitorial department of the happenings. Already we're assembling the fleet to annihilate the Empire." A white velvet encased palm fell into a fist, rising from beneath the material and stopping at chest level.

Caterina could feel a stabbing sensation in her chest, like broken glass shredding against her heart. "Brother, we can't be sure it was the Empire. To incite open war would dictate the ending of our peaceful era, we cannot have that. Not now, not when the Rosen Kreuz is becoming an insurmountable threat." She stopped her proclamation momentarily to catch her breath, eyes closing gently before once again assuming the conversation, "Albion has already fallen prey to the influence of Isaak Fernand von Kampfer and Dietrich von Lohengrin, do you really want the Empire and Rome to fulfil their ambition?"

"I assure you, Caterina, the situation in Albion demanded a response and we have given just that. For a show of force, we have sent an armada of air battleships as well as Goliath's II and III," Francesco exclaimed violently.

Cardinal Sforza couldn't help but respond to her brother with a question, "And how many battleships make up your armada, brother?" her eyes shifted to a worried expression, the following of the Professor and Father Havel also moving into a grievous expression.

A smile curved at the right corner of Francesco's lips, beady eyes peering discerning from between the thin layers of flesh. Once more, the fiery cardinal hid his arms beneath the veil of scarlet. Forearms pressing against one-another as they folded upon his chest. Satisfied with the response, he would abruptly dismiss himself from the room.

Heaving air was carried through the open window, lashing upon the pale complexion of Father Havel. Thick, browns strands were carried to bar his line of sight. All the while, Havel couldn't help but shake a feeling that Francesco's actions, at this point in time, might be the correct solution to the problem.

"If Rome assumes power…we can expect heavy resistance from Methuselah in every corner of the world," sighing, William brought the sable pipe from his lips to rest gently against the crevice between his thumb and index finger. "We cannot allow this to happen. Is there anyway we can stop him?"

Caterina and Vaclav both held a look of disdain upon their facial features; a depressing scene addressed the situation, furthering the darkness building in the world. William couldn't help but agree with their gestures, both arms slumping to dangle freely at his sides without a lift. "So…the tides of chaos lift once more. And my homeland will be the centre stage for this war."

"Tides of chaos…" Father Havel muttered moments before moving to exit the room.


	2. Chapter 2:Man in the Black Suit

Chapter 2: Man in the Black Suit

The sounds of a hollow banging perform a multitude of serenaded tunes; each one echoing in a familiarity of tempo. Dim lights flickered on and off amongst the dampened surroundings, quelling what darkness they could with the broken bulbs. Dangling wires sparked in essence, providing more coverage for the shine itself.

It wouldn't be long before a visible substance of human life came into view. A booted foot pressed forward, its heel crunching dust and debris which perpetuated its appearance underfoot. Vivid sable pants of a natural nature hung over the rim of the blackened subjects. Pressing amidst the foreground sat the clinging intimacy of a coat; its trim a layered plaster of white.

A silent atmosphere danced with the melancholic sounds of a dripping tab, its coercing activities acting in a painful familiarity of tempo. Striking zephyrs caressed the open symphony; haunting cries of a other-worldly nature emitting a cold shiver through the skin of the male.

Leon couldn't help but shut close his nose with his thumb and index finger, a foul stench protruding between the musky hallways. "Tres, why the hell are we here?!" his question barked forth towards his mechanical companion; feet refusing to take another step until he received an answer.

The countless squeaking and scurrying of rodents make this dull scene a romanticisation of disease. And yet, Leon couldn't understand what would bring them to this place. But the peculiar premise for their investigation began its unholy debacle the moment they reached a chamber labelled 'Augury Spine.'

"So this is it, eh?" Leon exclaimed in his casual tone, right knuckles bending as they compressed against his hip bone. Left leg holding his body-weight as the right became marginally slump to the point of what-the-fuck is going on.

Gunslinger allowed artificial skin to conceal brown hues, the perpetual emotionless expression giving way for but one word to make itself apparent, "Affirmative." But that wouldn't be all. As if watching a glass window shatter into a million shards, hailing bullets performed a leviathan of motions into the steel door located to the right. Whether or not anything was in there would soon become known.

Through the carrying squalls hanging overhead, they gave allowance for small breezes to slip between the cracks of the faulty construction. That very same wash of wind passed through long, blonde strands of a third AX member. Father Hugue had, as ordered, come as a companion to his fellow comrades. Yet, when the rain of bullets upon the harmless door eviscerated the item, not once did he budge. In contrast to Leon's actions of leaping backwards into a wall, Sword-Dancer was a content, quiet individual.

The quiet resound of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata played through the broken bombardment, its tune emitting from a docile phonograph playing on a small table in the centre of an empty room. Cautiously did the trio enter, approaching the music machine slowly. Hugue's hands sat to the lower body of his weapon; Leon allowed a ring to spin consecutively around his index finger, whilst Gunslinger's palms remained occupied with a pair of firearms.

For a moment, everything seemed to be clear; unerringly strange, but clear nonetheless. But as for all things, moments pass far too early before their due date. The approach upon the phonograph was halted by something unusual, a transcendental entity perhaps. Leon and Hugue looked somewhat puzzled at one another, Tres simply rose both weapons towards the phonogram.

"I can't move…" Hugue exclaimed in a harried tone of voice. Muscles constricted, the blood flow within his veins slowly in a manner which would severely weaken him, but not put him to death. Soon to follow up, the very same effect took place upon the biological structure of Leon. "What's going on here?"

Due to him being a mechanical creation, Gunslinger suffered from something vastly different to that of the others. Effects which would short circuit his motion system, deeming him incapable of processing movement patterns. But instead of shutting him down completely, Tres still retained the ability for natural thought and speaking terms. But he did neither.

Unnerving would describe the unfolding scene before their eyes; a deathly meticulous laughter echoing in coordination with fizzling burns. The phonograph in the centre of the room began to phase in and out of the material plain; the table which housed the musical device seemingly shifting to the proper proportions of a intricately-crafted chair.

"Rosen Kreuz?!" the volume of Leon's voice took a drastic turn, breaking through the quiet terrain. Echoing, bouncing from wall to wall, his duo of words spoken crackled against his ears. Stinging his eardrums.

An Albion accent drew from everywhere; all sides, up, down, left, right, diagonal…words spoken were of noble kindness, "Fools of a mixed creation? Rosen Kreuz are nothing more than puppets who require a puppeteer." In the present scenario, the phonograph and wooden table blinked from existence. In a replacement, there sat a chair. The very same chair carved with the insignia of the Empire, Rome, Rosen Kreuz, Fleur du Mal and Albion. A plush, crimson cushion was appropriate by an enigma. A shade, a silhouette. Creeping darkness which would fade upon revelation.

Raven black designed the pinstripe suit, a seemingly slender male occupying the contents of the chair. The right leg had been lifted to comfortingly hug the left, arms tucked upon the opposing sides as they lay folded across his chest. "Welcome to my humble abode. I find the dampness a soothing requiem for the events which shall soon take place."

Hugue de Watteau forever struggled to free himself from the deathly grasped ordained to him by this individual. Legs and arms jiggling in place. But an odd attachment would stop the entirety of his form from moving at all. As if locked within a prison cell, Hugue's arms suddenly lifted diagonally facing skyward. The legs mimicking the same motions on an opposing side. An acquired ethereal rope latched itself to the thickness of his neck and inturn, this new male spoke, "Come now, Father Hugue, we cannot have you escaping. To keep you content, the more you move…the more you die."

The trio remained there, stationed silent…helpless in the face of this seemingly unknown threat. Was he an enemy? Given Neutrality? Or perhaps a future ally? Leon pondered slightly on the situation, attempting to think of several different means of escape.

Struggle as he did, Dandelion lacked both the strength and intelligence to overcome the transcendental force claiming their movement. All that could be heard was the consecutive mockery of the enigma's laughter. Between supple fingers sat a cigarette, its burning embers relinquished by a stamping of his foot immediately after it touched upon the ground.

"Smoking is such a filthy habit, how absolutely vulgar," the devoid male cough lightly into his gloved fist, brushing dried ash from the sleeve before hastily returning to their slouched position to his chest. "Now that I have your attention, allow me to explain the circumstances in which you're deemed utterly useless." Clearing his throat now, the male fixed another cigarette to the corner of his mouth. Cupping the flaming tip of the match as if it were the fires of Heaven.

Flicking the extinguished stick upon the bristle clods of dirt, porcelain lips parted; allowing for a swift gust of air to drag the second-hand smoke from his mouth. Brushing it into the wind streams circulating throughout the fabrics of the room. "Your interference in the grand scheme cannot be allowed. Already the pawns are in motion, the knights have moved into position. Cardinal Francesco is the bishop which shall lead this chess game to its final closing."

Gritting milk teeth, Leon stared furiously as the mysterious male exclaimed his plans and reasons. Had he not been trapped at this time, he would've surely killed him by now. Father Hugue remained still, silent; heeding the enigma's warning. Gunslinger just stood as he were, wanting to process movement, wanting to life the firearms and rain holy hell into the body of the sitting male.

"And what part do you play in this grand design?" Leon protested loudly, palms falling into fists as he was slowly, but surely, regaining the ability to move.

"I AM the design, priest," malicious intent flooded into the room like bats out of hell, a violently vicious voice rising within the hollow compound. "I am your conscious guilt; the Anti-God; the creator of all things grim in this world. I shall dictate the last remarks of this planet and plunge your pathetic races into the abyss. Both humans and Methuselah alike, you're all an infestation which needs to be removed."

Soft, calm and collected; yet mildly aggravated. These words would inturn describe the nature of Sword-Dancer's tone, "And what, exactly, are you?"

Shining ebony flooded torrentially against the onslaught of alabaster eyes, their gleaming disdain moving in posture to fix on the blonde priest. Fishing through the optic cortex, a simple analysis would define the question and the priest in question. "Me? I am but a humble player stretching my grasp across the face of the world."

"Your reach does not extend to the shadows," articulation whistled through the fragments of the dread scene. It carried through the oxygen lines; sifted through the dancing streams of wind. The exact location indecisive due to these factors coming into play.

One more it resounded, loud, calm and intentionally focused, "Arrow of Belial!" from the open door, an insurmountable narrowing of arrows screamed through the open entrance. Aimed directly for the unfamiliar person sitting in a chair, their collision would take place with nothing more than the metal fibres of the ground.

The once entrapped trio would fall to their hands and knees, all gasping for breath save for the mechanical priest. A one-eye open Leon would stare ominously at the 'saviour' with a scent of both shock and disbelief. "Why, Isaak?"

Through the doorless archway stepped the founding member of the Rosen Kreuz orden, "It seems that I require your assistance, fathers."


	3. Chapter 3:The Veracious Duress

Chapter 3:The Veracious Duress

"Absolutely not!" The booming characterization of the crimson cardinal's voice seemingly shook the foundations of the audience chamber. "Disgusting terrorists will not be present in the face of his holiness, the very idea is blasphemous!" Supple mandibles remained clenched into a balled fist, the vice grip released from the veil of scarlet to reflectively shine by means of the alabaster glove.

Leon took an involuntary step to the rear of his position, arms raised to sit level with his chest; palms stretched out in weariness. The deep umber hue of the oculars moved to strike at the scarlet cardinal, Caterina Sforza. Hope lay in his mind, hope that perhaps she would speak up against her brother in defiance of his natural tirade. But such a thing never occurred, silenced was everlasting from her lips.

Francesco de Medici allowed a sly smile to kiss upon the pale lips. Head arching to the side, giving enough hollow space for his posture to apply a fixation upon Pope Alessandro. "Your holiness, I bid you allow the Inquisitorial department to deal with these terrorists by any means necessary. Their very request has present us with the perfect opportunity to end their façade."

"I, errr…ummm," hesitantly as always, Alessandro attempted to grace his older with a reply; hands shuffling nervously upon the structural compound of the holy sceptre. Taking only simple moments to contemplate the request offered to him by Francesco, he arose from the décor throne to address him in a formal and quaint manner, "I want to know what they have to say. Please don't be mad…brother. I want to see them and listen to them."

The crimson cardinal failed to curb his arrogant nature, milky teeth gritting against one another whilst a smirk played on his lips. Slender digits of the right hand curved upon that of the opposing bicep. Arms folding loosely upon his chest. Wild thoughts rotated throughout his mind; in conjunction, however, he would move his position once more to his personally assigned chair as cardinal.

Cardinal Caterina Sforza perked her image towards Leon, focusing intently on his appropriated space, "Get it organized, Dandelion," he demand was quick and decisive. An incline of Leon's head urged him a step backwards once again, heel digging into the harsh underfoot. Spinning on said icon, his attention was averted towards the exit, a solemn walk proving to be filled with more disbelief at the Pope's decision than anything else. And with that in mind, he dismissed himself from the audience chamber.

* * *

Bristle breezes submerged the icy terrain of the courtyard to a freezing tundra, the cold chill of winter whipping at the planet life buried beneath the snow. The howling cries of animals, dogs, cats and birds alike, echoing by means of carrying through the wind. From atop the elongated archway, ice spires dangling with the threat of break. Underfoot, grass blades broke with a single step. The pristine whiteness of the snow and ice was an illustrious brilliance seemingly too long past. If ever. Something was amiss, something was calculating throughout the world. 

The subtle meowing of felines moving throughout the rooftops was over-taken by the heavy and quick pacing of footsteps. 'What's going on here?' Within the gnawing tedium, Abel Nightroad, sill distraught and despairing upon his recent lost, thought multiple thoughts about the rare and given winters day. Eyes of a blue glimmer locked in deep progression, but with a hint of sadness fishing through them.

Dexterous fingers whipped through ivory strands, the thumb, curvilinear in fashion, hooking around a dangling clump of hair, pushing it to sit behind the right ear. With his line-of-path once again said, the pacing would continue. Abel couldn't help the sorrowful sighs emit from between his lips, an inability to quell such thoughts fuelled by the anger and hatred he felt towards Isaak Fernand von Kampfer. But to think of the Rosen Kreuz orden and their accomplishments only serving to enhance that very same suffering he perpetually felt.

"Father Abel Nightroad," came the deep toned voice of the android. His currently occupied position standing dead centre between the Krusnik and the archway. "Cardinal Caterina Sforza requests your presence in the Audience Chamber, please accompany me."

No words, no response; as if the Krusnik had failed to acknowledge the very existence of Father Tres in this small frame of mind. Palms moved, clasping tightly upon the their structured counterparts. Fingers hooked in a curve within the crevice between the shoulder blade and neck. However, despite the disacknowledgement, that endless pacing came to a halt. Where he once stared at the drenched ground, he now looked passed his comrade towards the Founder of the Rosen Kreuz orden, Isaak Fernand von Kampfer. Who was evidently strolling through the Vatican as if he were a welcome guest, but what would Abel know?

"Von Kampfer!" Abel's tone alerted Isaak to his position, the malice of over-exerted anger breaking through the uncomfortable silence. Using his right hand, the palm stroked the ebony handle to his firearms. Fingers obtained a proficient grasp on its handle. Whipping the gun from its worn, leather holster, the barrels' single eye slipped into plain sight. The focus and main target aimed directly between the eyes of the Panzer Magier. "What are you doing here, Kampfer?!"

Isaak Fernand von Kampfer refused to even flinch at the very sight of hostility; full-while expecting it to cross his path at some point on this voyage. Instead, he graced Abel with a welcoming, yet sinister, half smile and arms open as if wanting to embrace the fiery priest. "Come now, father, I am here at the expressed permission of the Pope. Do you really plan on undermining the Pope's personal demand?"

Gunslinger stood idly between the rivalling pair, head slightly inclining to the right, further towards the direction of Isaak. Unlike his usual reactions, he did not reach for his weapons. No. Father Tres Iques merely stood in the dead centre, feet moving slightly to the side so as to enter the path of the Krusnik's direct aim.

"Father Abel Nightroad, withdraw your assault or I will be forced to incapacitate you. Will you comply?" In his own way, Gunslinger protested against Abel's actions, the small human-part of his mind processing a wave pattern of mild sympathy. "Isaak Fernand von Kampfer, Father Abel Nightroad; the two of you must accompany me at the request of Pope Alessandro the 399th. Cardinal Caterina Sforza, Cardinal Francesco de Medici, Brother Petro, Sister Paula and all available AX members have assembled as per itinerary. We will be the last to arrive."

The Krusnik allowed his drawn weapon to cease its violent aggression, placing the barrel and hand-piece back within its leather shelter. "Von Kampfer, why did you kill them all? The Desert is for refugees! Your actions will not go unpunished." With light viridian eyes did he glare maliciously and judgingly at the Magus. "The Pope will hear of your crimes, monster."

Isaak stared blankly, eclipsed in a mind full of confusion and doubt upon what exactly Abel Nightroad was talking about. Taking quick note of the expressed words, deep breaths would follow up from his blank look. Words in his casual tone soon to follow. "What exactly are you talking about, father?"

An impact unlike any other stabbed into the chest of Abel Nightroad, a feeling that his heart was being shredded by thousands of broken bottles. The unexpected response from Isaak urged Abel a step backwards, but not enough so that it could be perceived as fear or relinquishing his hatred. "Don't lie to me, Ka…"

Before Abel had a chance to finish his sentence, both Isaak and Krusnik had the barrels of Gunslinger's firearms pointed towards their head. In his usual robotic tone, deep in trombone and holding a nifty amount of bass, he would recite words which could be viewed as either threatening or a warning. "Father Abel Nightroad, Isaak Fernand von Kampfer; your continuation of incompliance is not a valid response. You will accompany me or friend/foe authorization data shall be deleted by due sub-routine 5934, defiance of Pope Alessandro the 399th."

The pair couldn't do much, so in order to have the time pass by quickly and spend as little time together as possible, Abel made sure to keep a well-worthy distance from the Panzer Magier. Instead, he stood to the opposite side of Tres to that of Von Kampfer, who was evidently leading them to the Audience Chamber. "We will be arriving in the middle of the meeting, please remain silent."

* * *

When the trio arrived, already they could hear the relentless shouts of Cardinal Francesco de Medici; his power-based voice once again vibrating throughout the chamber. "You are defying the very will of Rome with your timeless antics! I cannot believe we are sitting here listening to this nonsense. Brother Petro, the Inquisitorial department is not here to provide me with false lies about the true enemy. To say such blatant remarks is blasphemous against God!" 

"Cardinal Francesco, what your captain speaks of is the truth," interrupting the on-going conversation, Isaak stepped into the main portion of the Audience Chamber. With an almost inspired gaze, they filled with a scent of mockery yet jealousy, staring at the intricate carvings and woven material. Interlacing objects neatly placed to fill the empty void which was more space.

The pitch steeled eyes of Francesco bombarded the vampire with a highly sinister stare, lips contorting into a smirk. "Words of a lowly vampire like you mean nothing! If it weren't for the Pope's protection, you would be in the dungeons of the Inquisition this minute, so do not address me vampire!"

Abel stared at everyone and everything, the analysis of the given area allowed him to intake the sorrowful features on the faces of all occupants. Even Francesco held a scent like the others. It was now apparent that something truthful had been revealed and determination to find out had been placed in Abel's heart. "Someone, please, tell me…what's going on?"

Spinning on his right heel, Isaak faced the Krusnik. Although fully aware of Father Nightroad's hatred for him, Von Kampfer would address him and obliging answer the question. In a soft tone did he speak, voice separated from the others, as if they all needed to hear someone else say it. "The veracious duress is . . . . . . . . ."

Abel stared in utter shock before reciting one word, "Liar…"


	4. Message

Hello readers,

I'll be busy with work for about a week, so I'll update once more then.

Thanks,

Edge Of Regret.


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